


if this existence

by fict_addict



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:42:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24482224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fict_addict/pseuds/fict_addict
Summary: At work, Tadashi gently breaks a little ice with an attractive semi-stranger.---------------this is the original (not-published!'zine) version; somewhat wordier and with something of a chunk more wayward descriptive and wandering tenses and is really supposed to be part of something longer..
Relationships: Kageyama Tobio & Yamaguchi Tadashi, Kageyama Tobio/Yamaguchi Tadashi
Kudos: 6





	if this existence

**Author's Note:**

> this is the original (not-published!'zine) version; somewhat wordier and with a chunk more waywardly-worded and ramblingly long-sentenced descriptive as well as wandering tenses and is really supposed to be part of something longer.. 
> 
> ..tech screwup lost me all of what should have been chapters1-2 though, and while the fragments of a summary and linecatches frantically bashed out before-it-fadeth mock me on the doc page.. i thought posting it anyway (along with all my other procrastinated-on-posting drabbles and miniwrites) might help nudge me into working on it more..? ahhaha. n_n";;;

Yamaguchi finished off polishing the glass he held with a semi-absent glance for QC[quality control], bringing it back under his thumb for the stray droplet-mark he'd missed near the stem. The dark-haired stranger remained leaned against a jacketed arm, fingers aimlessly tracing something (or nothing) against the wooden bartop with occasional dampness from handling his drink. It was early still, and most of his regulars were likely still at dinner or zangyou[OverTime] -- he should probably make the effort to get to know this guy or help take his mind off things; nothing to do with the man's dark, dark eyes and piercing gaze or the voice in the back of his head that appreciatively said they'd love to Help this bloke Take His Mind Off Things.

He shoved the uncommon, unhelpful urge down and drifted the step back toward where more glasses remained unchecked on his lower service-side counter; slipping the now faultless martini glass onto a hanging slider with its drink-ready brethren he picked up another. This one was an evident victim of a late closing; visible water tracks everywhere. Yamaguchi leaned toward the sink and slipped it under the tap for a second and redipped the corner of his drying cloth in a mug of still-scalding water for good measure, meandering the half-stride back toward the unprocessed!glass-filled corner where the lone patron spaced out at the bar.

"Haven't really seen you around," he offered, light and conversational but not, he hoped, impressing on the other any pressure to respond. Said other glanced up with a vaguely surprised look that lasted but a moment, only shaking his head a little. Yamaguchi .had. seen him previously, pegging him for a just-passing-through sort the first time. He'd been joined at the table by a friend later that night, another occasional customer, and had come in to join that and other friends a handful of times or so since. Today he seemed comparatively listless somehow, though, and Tadashi found he wanted to do something about it. "Not meeting the others today?" It's the first time the man's seated himself at the bar, after all.

"No, probably not." The answer was short, but also short of curt; he took it as a tentative indication that his interaction wasn't completely unwelcome.

"Maybe I could wheedle a couple more drinks' purchase off you then," he grinned, "or a story or two if you like." He glanced at his glass, switched back the warm-damp corner for the rest of the drying cloth. "Or just a name to start with would be nice," he went on, hands working the fabric against the last of any remnant marks on the glass' surface. "I'm Yamaguchi," and then he blinked at the man's dark gaze just quietly considering him, and quickly checked himself. "No pressure if you'd rather not, though, of course," he held up the glass for a last check against the nearest ceiling-lamp. "I'd infinitely prefer continued interaction (or patronage; yanno..purchases, he winked, just a little) over something as personal-unnecessaryforthat as a...name."

He refrained from prolonging their eye-contact much himself as he spoke, the words more leisurely than his hands' sure movements, shelving the glass once it passed muster and letting his company maintain as much silence as he liked, though he realised the man's gaze didn't waver much and looked up at points to reciprocate. "Don't tell me, if you like; don't let that scare you away," he met that dark intrigue again and smiled a little. Wow, maybe he .couldn't. maintain the eye-contact if he tried; he coughed lightly, glancing away, and added "..from our fine establishment."

The next two glasses were almost-pass to begin with and came away spotless in seconds without any trouble as he tacked on the hasty addition in an attempt to regain at least a semiprofessional sort of facade, though he scowled with momentarily narrowed eyes at the last martini glass and stepped away to place it back into the sink. Stubborn, detergent&friction-resistant lipstick marks; the long-lasting!unsmudgeable!product-track of the makeup industry was an indirect bane of this little part of his working life. He wiped the scowl as quickly as he realised it was on his face, just as his bar-side compatriot said something under his breath.

He blinked, glancing in the man's direction as he straightened up from the depth of his movement. What was that? If he'd decided to give his name and Yamaguchi couldn't re-wheedle it out of him that would be another strike on the cosmetics industry's scorecard. He'd caught a 'ge' syllable and maybe an 'm-' one after; had it been 3 or 4 sounds -- a statement, or a question? Before he could ask anything though, movement caught in the corner of his peripheral vision.

"Ah, excuse me -- just a moment," he apologised regretfully, setting his glass and dryer down when the side door opened and Tanaka-san's face popped in with a grin as the man waved a clipboard. Delivery was later today than usual, and Yamaguchi was going to whine-snipe at him at least two lines about fearing he'd have to disappoint customers (never mind that it was a Monday evening and therefore highly unlikely) while he expertly handled the paperwork and passed on the payment for the previous month's purchases.

"Sorry about that," he gestured as he returned, barely two minutes later. Tanaka-san was efficient, enthusiastic and great at his job, even if he couldn't overcome bad traffic or the accidents that caused those. "You were saying something..?"

The dark eyes were back on his face, less frowny somehow and a little different from before. There was a little shrug, and then with something like a smile, "Juugemu Juugemu Gokou-no-surikire Kaijarisuigyo-no Suigyoumatsu Unraimatsu Fuuraimatsu Kuunerutokoro-ni Sumutokoro Yaburakouji-no burakouji Paipopaipo Paipo-no-Shuuringan Shuuringan no Guurindai Guurindai-no Ponpokopii-no Ponpokonaa-no Choukyuumei-no Chousuke," and the glass was being lifted to those damnably attractively quirking lips, even if they gave his intense gaze a harsh sort of dangerous quality with how closely he seemed to be taking in Yamaguchi's reaction.

Yamaguchi'd blinked, processing the first half-dozen or so of those syllables as the man went on, reciting the insanely long name that Tadashi himself had seen in an upper-elementary reader (not to mention an ambitious someone in his class had once chosen that particular anecdote for an interclass storytelling competition and he'd been subject to the boy's insistent repetition of it in rehearsal and hounding him for critique; when the kid' finally won it'd been with pride and Massive Relief and a consideration of change in (not even full-time..!) career). He didn't feel the stunned bewilderment of the moment dissolving into realisation and growing mirth (and not a little admiration, it really was a ridiculous mouthful) until he realised how evident it was, and then the struggle to revert to and maintain a straight face was equally ridiculous. (Suddenly remembering a particular pre-battle exchange in a particular popular shounen anime-from-manga Did Not Help One Bit.) He gave up and gave in to a short outburst of giggles, managing only then to rein himself in to just a massive grin.

He met the other man's eyes again, and gave him a smaller grin. "..n, nice," he managed, a little laughter still stubbornly lingering in his voice.

And then the door swung open and a bright-haired, shorter figure appeared in the doorway, a grouch cloud emanating from his expressive face and muttering to himself. When he glanced up and caught sight of them both he did a double-take and pointed anime-dramatically at the dark-haired customer with no small amount of indignation, almost sputtering as he stormed over. "--Kageyama! You /asshole/, leaving me stuck at the table by myself with all _those_ people,"

The dark eyes flickered back to Tadashi's, and the ghost of a smile quirked a little into a real one. A small one, but a real one, and Yamaguchi's breath forgot to deal with itself. "Or you could call me Kageyama, I suppose."

They'd left after a short, mutually grouchy exchange, the man called Kageyama slipping his payment across the bar and dismissing any return of change with a minimal wave of his hand and that ghost of a smile. "Keep it; hard work."

As the door swung slowly shut behind the departing duo he heard the bright voice almost-squawk with an accusatory-Delighted sound, "Were you .flirting. with the barkeep?! You were FLIRTING with-- omg dude, /'Otsukare'/ what was thaaat--" He stared at the closed door for a moment then realised with a start he was staring and his cheeks were starting to warm. Fecckk.

\---

Long after the night's shift was done (bless weeknight hours) and Yamaguchi stretched out on the bed that was the current mortal delight of his immortal body, he stared out into the empty space beyond his bedroom ceiling and thought of the Longevity Chamber, where he'd never personally been but was always aware of; a place populated by "filing" assistants who came upon the request of others like himself who complained about yet another "Okinawan" (they weren't .all. Okinawan, and in recent years (decades) those had gotten shorter as their collective diets and lifestyles worsened and slacked out of healthiness, but the tag had come in early and was now stuck) blocking names of other lit lifespans behind them and moved those to stand among other similarly tall ones.

He thought of a small version of the man called Kageyama, a tiny eight-or-so year-old not-so-grump version, rattling off the mouthful of tongue-twisty story punchline all in one breath then smugly smirking about it and huffed out a laugh.

Anything but the thought of having to one day hunt down the candle labelled Kageyama Whateverhispersonalnameis. He hoped again (and again and again and again; it never ended and Tadashi wondered yet again what in hell he'd been thinking when he agreed to and applied for that department transfer. Fxck this life(lihood) and the regulations that forbade multiple transfers within X centuries; he'd had too many days he'd rather be back getting p|ssed off with idiots who wouldn't do the minimum to save themselves and their families from squalor and dire poverty than the pain of having to collect on a soul he'd become familiar, close with. (And fxck the Psych department; wth was HR doing, they were so shorthanded no one had time to stay back at HQ for sessions even if they'd wanted to, let alone manage to arrange communal support meetups with fellow shinigami spread thin across the globe.)) that when the time came, one of his other Asia+Pacific colleagues would be nearby enough to foist that particular one on them. (He always thought this, but he also knew when the time came he would jealously fend off anyone else who'd drawn the assignment of, and-or aggressively trade for, his attachments. Some of his colleagues scoffed at what they saw as weakness, but Tadashi also had mutual agreements with other fellows who felt (and suffered) as he did -- he was always promptly contacted by Sugawara-san, apologetic and regretful, whenever any of his past "lives" ' family members or close acquaintances came of 'age' under his 'jurisdiction'.

He watched a mental replay of the dark eyes' growing amusement at his flummoxed expression as those lips recited that infernally long name without any hesitating uncertainties or tripping over syllables and thought; if this man were a TV celebrity he'd be subscribing to whatever he shows up in..and recording it all. Not about how those lips would feel on his own, or what those considering eyes responding to some (morethan)human kindness did to his insides.

He closed his eyes and wished hopelessly against hope that the man could be indeed the actual thing were such a person even real. The first conversation they had that wasn't a drink order's too early to develop a crush, Tadashi. Way too early.

Sometimes it kind of sucked to still feel so human. Tomorrow he would face reality and everything again; today, this one hour before he had two dozen or so collections to make around this and the next prefecture before dawn and another hundred-seventy-something the next four prefectures over before lunch...he could dream a little. (..even, he decided, if it'd hurt more later..)

\-- The Real Juugemu [end prologue]

**Author's Note:**

> _inspired loosely by hideyoshico’s Nennen Saisai; the two-parter in the first four chapters --  
> <https://mangarock.com/manga/mrs-serie-175868>_
> 
> also:  
> <https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jugemu> more on the rakugo piece that hilariously long name is from
> 
> <https://youtu.be/IZrwrxnkblg> \-- the 0:59 long exchange between King Bradley and Scar from the FMA DVDcut that helped set tadashi off over there.


End file.
